The sun is high. Even the clouds have taken refuge.

I am fighting a battle, a battle that is raging on even as I speak and I have the scars to show for it. I have been wounded, bloodied, mauled beyond repair. Several times I have been forced to think of surrender and retreat. The onslaught is horrific and unrelenting but I called upon my reserves, I rallied my forces, I disciplined the last remaining foot soldiers and urged them to put up a last fighting stand against the enemy.

The enemy, a very capable and dangerous fighting force, one of whose likes have never been seen before in this part of the world, equipped with the most deadly weaponry known to man. Backed by a even more powerful force, one that knows no mercy, no creed, religion, nothing makes any difference to the carnage it unleashes on its path to the ultimate goal.

His powers are unlimited, unrelenting and he can be sadistically cruel as he wants. His tentacles reach out into the hidden corners of our kingdom, sucking out the very essence and every resource that we have, and even the ones we thought we had, and weren’t even aware of.

He plunders our armories, stockpiles, raids our granaries, ravages every defence we have and succeeds in weakening us till we are sorely tempted to lay down our arms at his feet. But weakened though I may be, I am not giving up without a fight.

Here, I lie bloodied, wounded, tired beyond the limits of human endurance. But still I fight on, day after day, night after night, sometimes they gain the upper hand, forcing us back and then again.
Me and my ragtag bunch keeping them away, but for how long?

I stand there, on the battlefield, my arms covered with blood, some of it mine. Holding the sword which has been my faithful companion for so long. I look back at my fortress, an empty shell. I think of the glory that it was, the days that I spent there, the happiness that I experienced, the love and the longing.

I may win this battle or maybe I wont, I may even win the war but I have still lost. My treasure has already been taken away from me. As I look at the hordes preparing their final surge towards me, I can see them frothing at their mouths, with murder in their bloodshot eyes; I experience a moment of calm and I think to myself – I was never meant to keep the treasure for long, I was never meant to be its rightful owner. I was just a caretaker –holding it for the rightful owner.

As evening falls, and the vultures pick up the pieces of the battle, I lie there looking at the azure sky weightless and surprisingly at peace with myself. I have lost. The battle, the war, my treasure. She has been taken away by the plunderer. Away to a new land to be spent among the denizens of that land who now own her.

I can feel something picking at my legs, something furry and clawed.

I close my eyes, this time for the final time.

- Rohit Bhasi

Rohit is that rare and wonderful combination of a creative writer and an artist. His pencil sketches have been admired widely.